


gray area

by PitViperOfDoom



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Friendship, Gen, Internalized Acephobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28696884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitViperOfDoom/pseuds/PitViperOfDoom
Summary: It took Jon a little too long to realize that it counted.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Comments: 28
Kudos: 328
Collections: Aspec Archives Week





	gray area

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Wish/Pride

He had a test the following day on a unit that had been giving him trouble, so he was too absorbed in his lecture notes to notice the growing gathering until someone brushed past him to join it.

Jon glanced up, faintly irritated. He didn’t have much of a right to complain; he was in a student lounge, not a library, and there were no rules limiting chatting and gathering here. There was only one of him, after all, tucked away at a corner table where no one was paying him any mind. He could always move.

His memory tugged at him. He’d heard something about a club meeting here today, hadn’t he? Someone had announced it, at some point…

Halfway across the room, one of the other students glanced up and noticed him staring. A tentative smile broke out on her face, and she jerked her head at the others settling down on the couches and armchairs. “You here for the meeting?”

“The…” Jon hesitated. “What was it, again?”

“LGBT coalition,” she answered. “We meet here every other week?”

“Oh! Oh, I…” Embarrassment stalled his tongue—his presence now felt like an intrusion.

She was still looking at him, polite and open and welcoming even though what she was offering wasn’t—it didn’t have a place for him, he didn’t _need_ it, and they certainly didn’t need him taking up their time and space—

“I’m just ace,” he blurted out, lamely. The word felt odd on his own tongue. He’d never spoken it out loud before, much less to describe himself, and the moment it was out, he was seized in the grip of sudden doubt. He longed to take it back— _what if he was wrong, what if he just wanted the attention that came of_ _stepping outside the norm_ _—?_ “I’m not really…”

The girl shrugged, still polite. “That’s okay. Everybody’s welcome, if you want to join us.”

It wasn’t—he didn’t really  _count_ —

“Thank you,” he said, and turned back to the notes in front of him. The girl must have turned her attention back to the group, because she didn’t press him, and neither did anyone else.

The meeting went on, but Jon had a test coming up and only one day left to study for it, so he tuned them out.

That was fine. It had nothing to do with him anyway.

* * *

Jon wasn’t altogether sure when his mind made the switch. There was no spark, no grand epiphany, anymore than there had been when he first understood himself at all. It was a gradual process, full of maybes lingering in the back of his mind, testing it like ice beneath his feet, until one day he simply understood it to be true.

He thought about that day from time to time,  that quiet afternoon he’d spent  in the student lounge, surrounded by notes, with possibility blooming  just  within reach.

He hadn’t reached. And now here he was, his school days well behind him, smarting from the missed opportunity.

The button was a small victory, but it felt like a hollow one. The point of these things was to share them with someone, to show them off to  those who  _understood_ , and now…

It was with quiet resignation that he fixed it to the strap of his bag. Too little, too late—the time to show these things off was long past him. All he could do now was wear it and imagine a world in which he’d been a little less pathetic.

* * *

“Nice button.”

Jon’s eyes were beginning to smart from the screen. He’d missed his required break again, too absorbed in the project in front of him to acknowledge the promise of a tension headache in his forehead. He looked up reluctantly, and did a double-take when he realized that Tim was sitting on his desk, on top of his accumulating stack of printed articles.

“I beg your pardon?” Jon blinked hard, several times.  Tears welled up from strain, and he wiped them away on the he e l of his  palm . The research office was drafty, and his hands were cold enough to soothe his aching forehead, as well.

“On your bag,” Tim explained, pointing. “Spotted it from across the room and thought, thank God, you know? Last place I worked was a bit stuffier, you’d never see people showing off.”

“I’m not—I’m not  _showing off,_ ” Jon spluttered.  Truth be told, he’d forgotten the button was even there.

“Right, wrong choice of words,” Tim said, wincing. “Think I’ll get yelled at if I swap my mouse pad out for one of my own? It’s got bi colors.”

Jon relaxed, just a little. Tim was older than him by a few years, but he’d only started at the institute last month, and the idea of having any sort of seniority on him was… odd, to say the least. “I doubt anyone would mind,” he answered. “No one’s said anything to me.”

“Fantastic!” Tim beamed. “Reminds me of my uni days. We should start a club.”

Jon laughed humorlessly. “Now  _that_ might catch Elias’s attention.”

“Might be a good thing.  Y ou do anything for Pride  around here ?”

Jon paused, wracking his brain for a moment. “What month is that, again?”

“Take that as a no, then.”

“I’ve never had anyone to do it with,” Jon replied, which wasn’t quite true. He’d had Georgie, once. But that had been a long time ago, and they’d never…

It’d just been too new to him.  Too much like a gray area between two sides of a binary, before he’d known better.

“Seriously?” Tim went on, oblivious to what was going on in his head. “Where’d you go to school?  _Nobody_ does pride like university kids.”

Instinctively, Jon glanced around at the rest of the office. The other desks were unoccupied, which was odd considering how sure he was that  _someone_ had been around to overhear this. Where was everyone…? Oh. It was lunch already. Where had the time gone?

“Just never had the chance,” he said. It came out unexpectedly bitter. “At the time, I was…”

His voice trailed off. He’d never told anyone about this. Georgie had already been out of his life, and he’d just… never had anyone else to tell. But  here was  Tim, looking at him without  a trace of judgment , open and expectant like he was actually interested in what Jon was saying.

“I knew I was ace at the time, but I didn’t realize I was anything else, yet,” he finished. “So I just… never joined any of the…” He gestured vaguely.

The expression on Tim’s face shifted. It was the first time Jon had ever seen him look cautious. “You know ace counts as queer, right?”

“Oh, yes,” Jon replied. “I know that now.” He shrugged, easing a page out from under Tim. Obligingly, Tim got off his desk to let him. “But I didn’t then, and… well, that’s that. Missed my chance, I suppose.”

Tim snorted. “Jon, you can’t miss your chance to  _make friends._ ”

_You_ _can_ _if you’re me,_ Jon thought.  Out loud, he said, “Still wish I’d known better, back then.”

“Ah, well. Least you  do now.”

“I suppose.” Jon finished neatening his research notes. “Was there something else you wanted?”

“Yeah,” Tim said brightly. “I’m still a bit new to the area. Where are the good lunch places?”

“There’s a cafe just down—” Jon began, before Tim waved him off. 

“That won’t work, I’m afraid, I’m useless with verbal directions,” he said airily. “In one ear, out the other. You’ll have to lead the way.”

Jon stared at him. Tim stared back.

“I have work…”  The protest withered on his tongue . “Fine. But I  _won’t_ be making a habit of this.”

“Sure,” Tim said brightly.

It was not the first time Jon had ever been wrong about himself. It would not be the last.


End file.
